A Lethal Injection
by CharlieCaller
Summary: When Jesse catches a genetically modified disease, his friends need to find the person behind it and the antidote before time runs out. (Be kind - this is my first fic on this site. Please RR.) Story Finished! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Title: A Lethal Injection  
  
Author: Becca T (Beksmfa2@aol.com)  
  
Disclaimer: The characters Mark Sloan, Steve Sloan, Jesse Travis and Amanda Bentley do not belong to me, they belong to CBS and Viacom. I am not making a profit from writing this fanfiction. All other characters belong to me.  
  
  
  
A Lethal Injection  
  
Chapter 1  
  
  
  
"Dr. Travis," a paramedic called to him as he wheeled a patient into the hospital. The young doctor looked up, then ran over and was ready and listening to the information about the patient given to him by the paramedic.  
  
"Fainted twenty minutes ago. A dog-walker found her slumped on a park bench, and called an ambulance before she passed out. Before that, she complained of feeling nauseous, and a bit dizzy. Someone also said that she seemed sensitive to light."  
  
Just like the others, the doctor thought to himself.  
  
"What's her name?" he asked.  
  
"Donna Bradley." Jesse Travis guided the gurney into one of the ER rooms and took a closer look at the patient.  
  
"Donna? Can you hear me?"  
  
Donna opened her eyes a bit, but slammed them shut again. "The light," she muttered.  
  
"Someone page Dr. Sloan," Jesse called to anyone without a job. Less than a minute later, Dr. Sloan appeared.  
  
"What is it, Jesse?" Mark asked him when he arrived.  
  
"Mark, this is the fourth person this week with these symptoms," Jesse said. "Dizziness and fainting, nausea, and sensitivity to light."  
  
"I can't figure out what this is," Mark replied.  
  
"I've never seen anything like this," Jesse mumbled. "It is so weird!"  
  
Mark nodded, having a look at the patient. He walked Jesse out of the room whilst the nurses tended to the woman.  
  
"Mark, something bothers me about this."  
  
"Something is bothering me too, Jesse. I am beginning to think that we are dealing with a genetically altered form of some kind of illness. There are different symptoms for diseases, but I have never seen them all at the same time."  
  
Jesse was only half listening to what Mark had to say. He was remembering the time that he got genetically altered smallpox, and inwardly shuddered at the memories. He changed the subject. "How are the other three patients?"  
  
"Darren Thompson and Christina Morris are all stable, but Richard Donovan's fever is still very high," Mark said. "He is still in intensive care."  
  
"After three days, is it still that bad?" Jesse asked in surprise as the fourth case was taken out of ER and to a room.  
  
"Yes, and it has hardly moved any lower since he was first admitted." Mark then remembered something on a less medical note. "I forgot! You and Steve are going fishing this weekend!"  
  
Jesse's eyes lit up as he remembered. "I have been packed and ready to go since Steve first suggested it."  
  
Mark laughed, admiring Jesse's enthusiasm for going on camping trips with Steve. Somehow or other, they tended to end up in trouble while on the trip, but this never wavered Jesse's eagerness.  
  
"Before I go," Jesse said, getting back to the subject of the baffling illness, "I am going to get a blood sample from Donna Bradley. It might give us an idea about her condition."  
  
Mark nodded. "And then, you can take a long weekend of rest. You deserve a bit of time away from work, taking into account the number of double shifts you have been doing lately."  
  
"And when was the last time you had a holiday?" Jesse retorted with a grin on his face, as he walked down the hall with his good friend.  
  
  
  
"Okay, Mrs Bradley," Jesse said, talking to the half-conscious patient lying on the bed in the room. "We are just going to take a bit of blood from you so we can make some tests on your condition. Now, hold still." Jesse punctured a tiny hole in the woman's arm and drew enough blood to make the tests.  
  
He gave the sample to a nurse, who placed it in a cylinder.  
  
As Jesse said, "Thanks," to the nurse, she jumped, and dropped the glass container. The glass shattered on the floor.  
  
"Dr Travis, I'm so sorry," the nurse said, crouching down to pick up the pieces. "I've been burgled three times in the past month and I am so jumpy."  
  
"It's okay, Jane," Jesse said, picking up the pieces. He winced as one of them cut his finger. He turned to a concerned-looking Jane, and said, "it's my blood, don't worry. Can you fetch me a Band-Aid, please?" He was given one, and he disposed of the shards of glass in the trashcan.  
  
After he took the second sample and gave it to a less agitated nurse, he turned to his patient. She was stirring a bit more. "Now, that arm is going to feel a bit numb for a while," he told her. "If you need anything, just push that button and a nurse will appear before your very eyes," he chuckled, and began to walk out of the room.  
  
"Wait," the woman spoke. Jesse turned round and was instantly at her side.  
  
"What do you need?"  
  
"Can I have something for my mouth please?" Jesse had an odd look on his face, so she continued. "Before I came to the hospital, I had a tooth removed, and it just started bleeding again." Jesse nodded, and came back with something to impede the bleeding.  
  
"Thanks," she said. "I had another tooth taken out last week, but I don't think that anaesthetic was very good on this one. It was so painful when he took this one out."  
  
Jesse nodded, knowing many friends whom hated the dentist, his friend Amanda Bentley included.  
  
"If you need anything else, the button is always there." Jesse turned around and saw that the young woman was already asleep again. Jesse shook his head and left her to rest.  
  
As soon as he shut the door, he turned around and walked straight into Steve.  
  
"Hi, Jesse," Steve greeted him. "Dad said I'd find you here. Are you ready yet?"  
  
"I'll just get changed, and I'll meet you in the lobby," Jesse replied.  
  
Steve headed off in that direction, and Jesse went to change out of his uniform and get his bag for the weekend. While he was in the locker room, he felt suddenly dizzy, and had to grab his locker door to stop him from falling to the ground. Jesse shook his head, and decided that he definitely needed the weekend away. He slammed the locker door shut, grabbed his bag, and strolled out of the locker room toward the lobby. There, Mark would be waiting to say goodbye to them both. Amanda had bid them farewell earlier, and had left the hospital early to take CJ and Dion out for the afternoon.  
  
"All ready?" Mark asked, frowning slightly at Jesse's pale face.  
  
"Yeah," Jesse panted, having just run up the stairs to the lobby.  
  
"Now, I want you both to relax this weekend," Mark began, and stopped as he saw the two friends laughing.  
  
"Dad, you always tell us this, and we always seem to end up in trouble. We know to relax, and not to get up each other's backs. You just have to catch every criminal in LA before we could stay out of trouble."  
  
Mark thought about this for a moment, and nodded with a smile on his face. "But whatever you do, have a good time!" As Mark saw them out of the hospital, it occurred to him that Jesse was looking more and more tired by the minute. He made a mental note to phone them in a few hours to see if he was all right. If Jesse was ill in the wilderness with just Steve to take care of him, Mark dared not think what would happen.  
  
  
  
"Looking forward to the fishing?" Steve asked, trying to make conversation with the unusually quiet Jesse.  
  
"Yeah," Jesse replied, and yawned.  
  
"Dad's right," Steve observed, "You have been doing too many double shifts at the hospital."  
  
Jesse tried his best to wake up a bit. "I'll be okay in a minute," he said.  
  
Something suddenly occurred to Steve. "When did you last have something to eat?"  
  
Jesse sat and thought about the question for a moment. "Well, I did fourteen hours at the hospital today. I had something before that, at about midnight. I had some coffee and a snack bar at lunchtime. I think. It was really busy today, and that's all I had time for."  
  
Steve shook his head. "No wonder you are so tired. You haven't eaten properly for hours! Next time we see a roadside diner, we are going to stop and have something to eat before you fade away. Got that?"  
  
Jesse nodded, but he wasn't sure if he was in the mood for food. He was beginning to feel slightly sick.  
  
As the truck pulled up outside an off-road diner, the smell of the greasy food passed Jesse's nose, and he felt his stomach heave. In an instant, he was out of the truck, into the Men's room of the diner, and vomiting in one of the stalls.  
  
Steve, who had seen that Jesse had looked a bit pale before he rushed off, headed into the diner. After seeing that Jesse was not in the dining area, he walked into the Men's room, and realised that the boot poking out from underneath the stall door belonged to Jesse.  
  
"Hey, Jesse?" Steve called, knocking on the stall door. "Jess?"  
  
"Steve," Jesse groaned. "Don't feel so good."  
  
Steve did not want his friend to be ill on the vacation, so he saw no other option but to say, "I'm taking you back to the hospital. You've probably eaten something in that hospital cafeteria, haven't you?"  
  
Jesse let out another groan, and Steve decided to can the jokes. "Okay, okay," Steve said. Jesse staggered up, and Steve led him to his car.  
  
Steve handed Jesse a paper bag before they set off. Once they were on their way, Steve dialled the hospital, and got in touch with Mark.  
  
"Dad," Steve began as he switched the hands-free setting on.  
  
"Steve, what's up?" Mark asked, knowing that something was not right.  
  
"I'm on my way to the hospital. It looks like Jesse has eaten something that has not agreed with him. He's been sick, and he is really out of it."  
  
"Okay," Mark said. "Talk to him, and keep him awake, okay? We'll be ready when you bring him in."  
  
"Thanks Dad," Steve replied.  
  
After the call to his father, Steve immediately turned his attention to Jesse. "Jess," he began, not really sure of what to say to him. After a moment of silence, Steve repeated again, "Jess?"  
  
"Huh?" Jesse looked up.  
  
"How do you feel?" Steve asked, trying to make conversation.  
  
"Like I'm gonna throw up," Jesse moaned.  
  
"What else?" Steve persisted.  
  
"My neck and shoulders really ache, for a start," Jesse continued. "I feel really dizzy, my head is burning and the light really hurts."  
  
"Okay," Steve said, making a mental note of these symptoms for his father. "Just sit tight, and you'll be at the hospital soon."  
  
"Why are you taking me to work when it's obvious that I'm ill?" Jesse slowly asked his friend.  
  
Steve chuckled, but was not entirely sure whether Jesse was joking or whether he was delirious.  
  
"Jesse, I need you to think about two questions for me," Steve started, hoping that this would keep Jesse's mind focused. "Do you know what you might have?"  
  
"A problem?" Jesse replied.  
  
"Apart from a sarcastic sense of humour," Steve said.  
  
"I don't know," Jesse began, more seriously this time. "It's a mixture of different things. The fever could be from a lot of things, same with being dizzy. What's the second question?"  
  
"Do you know how you got it?"  
  
Jesse took a moment to think. Then he remembered. "My hand!" No one was sure whether it was the shock of remembering, or the fever, or both that did it, but at that moment, Jesse's head dropped forward and hit the top of the dashboard of Steve's truck.  
  
"Jesse!" Steve exclaimed. He shook Jesse's shoulder, but got no response.  
  
"Hold on, Jess," Steve muttered, "just a few more minutes and we'll be at the hospital. Just do me a favour, please don't throw up." 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
  
  
Meanwhile, in the hospital, a PA announcement rang over the hospital. "Code Blue, room 294." Mark rushed to the room where a patient of Jesse's was. It was Richard Donovan. He tried to restart the heart of the patient, but to no avail.  
  
"Died of organ failure," Mark stated. "I don't understand why his fever wouldn't go down. I don't understand what went wrong."  
  
"Sometimes, there are questions that even doctors can't answer," a nurse tried to reassure Mark. He nodded, and hurried to the ER, ready to receive Jesse.  
  
  
  
"Steve…" Jesse muttered, opening his eyes a bit.  
  
"Jesse, what is it?" Steve asked anxiously as they pulled into a lay-by.  
  
"Don't feel good," Jesse said, trying to keep himself from passing out.  
  
"It's okay," Steve told him. "It's okay. We're almost at the hospital."  
  
"My hand," Jesse muttered. "My hand…" Jesse's eyes drifted shut, and his head slumped to one side.  
  
"Okay, Jess," Steve said, starting the engine and carrying on the journey to the hospital.  
  
It felt like forever, but soon enough Steve had driven through the gates and had stopped the car outside the ER entrance. He jumped out, ran around to the passenger side of the truck, and undid the door.  
  
Steve lifted Jesse out of the truck, and hauled him over his shoulder, as if he were a fireman carrying a person out of a burning building.  
  
"Someone get a gurney," Mark called as he saw Steve carrying Jesse through the ER doors. One was produced, and Steve carefully laid his friend on it. Steve noticed how his boots came nowhere near the end of the bed, and at any other time he would have made a joke of it.  
  
As Steve stepped away, doctors and nurses surrounded the bed with breathing equipment and drips. As some attached them to Jesse, others were talking, going through information about Jesse's condition. Steve could only stand and watch as his friend was wheeled away into a room. He didn't even notice Amanda walk next to him and silently watch the same scene.  
  
"He'll be all right," Amanda tried to comfort him, her eyes not leaving the rolling bed.  
  
"You don't sound convinced," Steve asked, his eyes also still fixed.  
  
"If Mark is right, then…" Amanda could not finish her sentence. She didn't want to finish it. "Come on. Lets get a coffee and wait somewhere else." Reluctantly, both of them headed off to the Doctors' Lounge to wait for news."  
  
Sometime later, Mark came in. Amanda knew that the news was not good.  
  
Mark sat down with a cup of coffee. "Jesse has got the same disease that the other three patients have got."  
  
"I thought that there were four," Steve queried.  
  
"There were."  
  
Steve sat in silence, understanding what his father meant.  
  
"He is still unconscious right now. What we have to find out is how he got it," Mark continued with urgency in his voice. "If it is contagious, then we could have an epidemic on our hands. Steve," Mark turned to his son. "Did Jesse say anything, anything at all, that might help?"  
  
Steve thought for a moment. "He said something about his hand. That's the last thing I heard him say. He just kept saying about his hand, and then he passed out."  
  
"Which room is he in now?" Amanda asked as the two men got to their feet.  
  
"255," Mark told her.  
  
"I'll drop in later," Amanda called as the two men left the room.  
  
Mark and Steve arrived outside Jesse's room, and opened the door quietly. Inside, they heard the regular beeps of the machinery inside. They could see Jesse's chest move up and down slowly as he lay still on the bed.  
  
Mark and Steve walked over, and looked for his hands. On one hand was a Band-Aid..  
  
"That must be something to do with it," Steve said as he pointed to it.  
  
"Yes," Mark said slowly. He felt Jesse's forehead. "Still burning."  
  
"Is that how the last guy died?" Steve asked, not really wanting to know the answer. Steve need only look at Mark to know the answer, and to know that it was not good news for Jesse.  
  
"Once we get the results back from Amanda, we should be able to get an idea of what is going on," Mark said, looking at one of the monitors attached to Jesse. "Before that, I think I'll go and have a talk with some of the patients." He paused for a moment. "Once we get those results, you could have another murder investigation to work on."  
  
Steve nodded. Mark left the room, but Steve wanted to stay. He wanted to be there when Jesse woke up. This was partly so that he could have any information that might help with an enquiry into an investigation, but mainly because he hated to see his best friend in pain, and knowing that there was little that he could do about it. Steve drew up a chair next to Jesse's bed, and sat as the sunset and the orange rays were cast through the window.  
  
  
  
The first patient to see was Darren Thompson. He had been the first patient brought into Community General with those symptoms. Of course! Mark snapped his fingers as a new thought dawned on him. What if there are patients in other hospitals with the same symptoms?  
  
He walked swiftly to the nearest reception desk, and asked the nurse on duty for a phone directory. In there, he found the telephone numbers for the nearest hospitals, and began the search for any other patients that there might be.  
  
"Thank you," Mark said, putting the receiver down as he finished the last call. Only one hospital had any information, and that was that a man had come in on the Wednesday of that week and had died that Friday morning from organ failure. No other hospitals had any information, but they told Mark that if they did, they would contact him immediately.  
  
"Hey, Mark," Amanda called, heading his way with an autopsy report. "Here's the preliminary report for Richard Donovan." As she reached him, she noticed a frown on his face. "What's up?"  
  
"I called other hospitals in the area, trying to find out if there are any patients with the same symptoms as the ones here."  
  
"That's good thinking," Amanda observed, "what did you find out?"  
  
"There was only one hospital that knew anything, and that patient died this morning."  
  
Amanda opened her mouth as if to say, "No!" No words left her mouth.  
  
"I think we should ask for the autopsy report of the other person," Amanda said. "We might get a clearer picture if we compare both reports."  
  
"That's a good idea," Mark said. "I'll send them a fax, but I'd like to look at this report first."  
  
Mark and Amanda lost all track of time as they pored over the report, searching for any information that might help them to piece together the puzzle of the strange disease. It was about half past ten when Steve came in for a coffee.  
  
"Still here?" All three of them asked the same question at the same time.  
  
"Yeah," all three of them replied at the same time, and chuckled.  
  
"Is this the preliminary autopsy for Donovan?" Steve asked, taking a seat at their table. His father nodded. "Well," Steve continued, "have you established what happened to this guy, and what we can do to help the others?"  
  
"Steve," Mark began, about to tell Steve something that he did not want to hear. "To make an antidote for this could take weeks. And that is if we figured out what it was. You and I both know that the chances of them living long enough for an antidote to be made are slim, and if they did survive long enough, there might be some side effects. But, I am sure that whoever made this disease made an antidote, in case they got it themselves. What we need to do is to find the person responsible, and then find the antidote."  
  
Steve nodded, knowing that his father was right. As soon as he could, he would question the patients with the disease, and find out anything he could.  
  
"I'll question the patients in the morning," Steve told his father. "Want to join me?"  
  
"I thought you'd never ask," Mark replied with a small grin on his face.  
  
"For now, I'm going to wait for Jesse to wake up," Steve said. "I still want to ask him about his hand. That keeps bothering me."  
  
"Me too," Mark said, getting up to leave.  
  
"I've got to go home," Amanda said, looking at her watch. "My sitter will be worried. I'll see you guys in the morning. Page me if there is any news on Jesse."  
  
  
  
Jesse was still asleep when Steve and Mark went into his room. They talked quietly about the case in hand, waiting and hoping that their friend would wake up soon.  
  
"So," Steve began, "Darren Thompson was brought in on Monday, Richard Donovan on Tuesday, Christina Morris on Thursday and Donna Bradley today. Why did they skip Wednesday, if that was the pattern?"  
  
Mark frowned, remembering that Steve did not know about the other patient. "They didn't skip Wednesday. I checked with the other hospitals, and there was another patient that came in on the Wednesday."  
  
"And?"  
  
"He died early this morning."  
  
Steve grimaced. "That's two," was all he could say.  
  
At that moment, Jesse began to stir in his sleep, and slowly his eyes opened.  
  
"Steve? Mark?" Jesse murmured, not quite being able to focus. "What happened?"  
  
"We went to a diner, but you started throwing up and you lost consciousness on the way to the hospital," Steve informed him, trying to refresh Jesse's memory.  
  
"Was the food that bad?" Jesse asked with a slight grin on his face.  
  
"Jesse, you may have been delirious at the time, but in the truck on the way to the hospital, you said something about your hand," Mark reminded him.  
  
"My hand," Jesse repeated slowly, and then he remembered. "My hand! I think I know how I got whatever I got. When I took Donna Bradley's blood sample, the nurse dropped the sample. I cut my finger ever so slightly on the glass. I thought it was only my blood on my hand."  
  
"At least we have established how you got the disease. How do you feel?"  
  
"Hot, tired, dizzy, nauseous," Jesse described to Mark. "And the light really hurts my eyes."  
  
"That's how all of the other patients feel. You've got a high fever. Somehow, we'll have to keep that down."  
  
"I think that there is something else you might like to know," Jesse spoke to the two men.  
  
"What?" They both asked together.  
  
"Ask the patients about dentist," Jesse replied slowly, trying to fight the need for sleep.  
  
"What?" They repeated.  
  
"It's probably nothing, but ask the patients about the dentist. It might help you." Jesse's eyes fluttered shut, and soon he was asleep again.  
  
"Is that what he is going to be like until we get an antidote for this?" Steve asked. "Is he going to be awake for five minutes a day and then sleep for the rest of it?"  
  
"Probably," Mark said, pondering about what Jesse meant by dentist.  
  
"It's two in the morning," Steve exclaimed with a yawn as he looked at his watch.  
  
"I think we had best come back in the morning after the other patients are rested before we question them," Mark told him.  
  
"Sure," Steve agreed, "but what Jesse said about the dentist is going to be bugging me in my sleep."  
  
"You're not the only one," Mark muttered as he quietly closed the door behind him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
  
  
In the morning, the father and son team were back in the hospital after a few hours of sleep. They checked in on Jesse first, and were told that he had been sound asleep all night. Mark knew that was to be expected, and he told the nurse that they would be back later.  
  
They moved down the hall to another room where two patients were being kept.  
  
"Darren Thompson and Donna Bradley," Mark told Steve as they knocked on the door.  
  
"Okay," Steve replied as they went in.  
  
They began with Donna, since she seemed to be the more awake of the two. "How are you, Donna?" Mark asked her.  
  
"Still a bit dizzy, but I don't feel quite as sick," Donna responded as she sat up in her bed.  
  
"Okay," Steve said, jumping in. "Donna, I am investigating the person behind this illness with the LAPD. My father is helping me in the case. If you can, please try and answer a few questions for me."  
  
"Sure," Donna agreed.  
  
"Right. What did you do before you started feeling ill?"  
  
"Well, I had left the dentist and…"  
  
"The dentist?" Mark asked.  
  
"Yes," Donna replied. "I had my tooth taken out. That was really bothering me. Dr. Fawkler is a great dentist."  
  
"What kind of anaesthetic did he use?"  
  
"Local," Donna said. "Though, I've got to say, I don't think it worked very well. It was still pretty painful when he took my tooth out."  
  
Mark sat and thought about this, whilst Steve continued questioning. "So, you left the dentist. Where did you go?"  
  
"I walked through the park to get to my apartment," Donna told him. "I was starting to feel a bit ill then. So, I sat on a park bench for a while."  
  
"What then?"  
  
"I opened my eyes and I was being rolled into the hospital."  
  
"Well, that should do for now," Steve said after a moments pause. "If you remember anything else, then tell us."  
  
"Will do," Donna replied with a yawn.  
  
Next, they questioned Darren Thompson. "It was Monday, just after nine in the morning," Darren recounted. "My office was a few blocks away from the dentist, so…"  
  
"The dentist?" Mark repeated again, feeling a slight sense of déjà vu.  
  
"That's where I went to before work," Darren told them. "Tooth extraction."  
  
"Did you have a local anaesthetic for it?" Steve asked him.  
  
"Yeah," Darren replied. "Why?"  
  
"When we find out more, we'll be sure to let you know," Steve said. "So, after you went to the dentist, what then?"  
  
"Well, where I work is a couple of blocks away from the dentist, so I walked. About five minutes, it took me. I sit down at my desk when I get there, and suddenly I start to feel ill. I wait for a couple of minutes, thinking it was the walk that did it and that I need more exercise, but it didn't go away. So, I stand up to go get a glass of water, and then it all went black. Next thing I know, I am on an ambulance heading here."  
  
Mark noted that both of the patients interviewed so far had no recollection of any memory from the time they felt ill until the time that they woke up. This probably meant that when they were asleep, there could be an earthquake going on and they would be none the wiser.  
  
Mark asked Darren whether his theory about the sleeping was true. "It's no light sleep, I can tell you that."  
  
Mark nodded, and he and Steve left the two patients to rest. "We'll question the other patient later," Steve said.  
  
Steve headed back to the police station to inform the Captain of the case he was working on, and to inform him that he was not actually on vacation at that moment. Mark, on the other hand, went back to Jesse's room to check on him.  
  
A nurse was in the room when Mark walked in. "Has the temperature gone down?" Mark asked after giving the nurse a nod in greeting.  
  
"It is still high," the nurse said. "If it has gone down at all, its not gone down by a lot."  
  
"Okay," Mark replied as the nurse left the room. He wondered whether to stay with Jesse or not. If it were Steve lying in the bed, nothing would have been able to prise him away from the room. It would probably be about the same for Amanda, too. Mark was having hesitations about Jesse. He then felt guilty about it, and decided that if he was not in, waiting for Jesse to wake up for a brief moment, then either Amanda or Steve should be. Since Mark had no rounds that morning, and none of the other two were there, Mark pulled up a chair and sat down near Jesse's bedside.  
  
About half an hour later, Mark looked up from his magazine to see that Jesse appeared to be having some kind of bad dream. He was breathing rapidly, shaking slightly and beads of sweat formed on his face. Mark put his magazine aside and went over to where Jesse lay. Jesse looked like he was saying something but it was incoherent.  
  
"Jesse?" Mark shouted to the shaking figure as he held him firmly by the shoulders.  
  
The shout quietened him a bit, and the shaking stopped. After a moment, Jesse opened his eyes. "Mark?" he rasped, trying to catch his breath.  
  
"It's okay," Mark quietened his friend. "Jesse, it's okay."  
  
"What happened?" Jesse asked as his breathing slowed down a bit.  
  
"I think your fever led you to have a nightmare," Mark sighed, sitting back down on the chair.  
  
"A nightmare?" Jesse asked. "Man, I haven't had one of those since," he hesitated, "since I was a kid."  
  
Mark paused for a moment, and then said, "Since your parents divorced?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Mark decided to move away from the subject. "How do you feel now? Physically, that is."  
  
"Well, still feel hot, tired, not with it," Jesse reeled off his symptoms. "Just the same as before."  
  
"You still have that fever," Mark said. "No wonder you're having bad dreams."  
  
"I hate this," Jesse said, raising his voice. "I hate just lying here, and being helpless."  
  
"Okay, Jesse," Mark tried to calm him down. Mark was going to say something, but he decided against it. After all, if Mark were in his position, he would feel just the same as Jesse, and no advice would make him feel any better. Instead, he said, "there are ways you can help. If you know anything, anything at all, tell us straight away."  
  
Jesse nodded. He felt bad for shouting at his friend, especially since Mark had done nothing wrong.  
  
"Sorry Mark," Jesse replied solemnly.  
  
"You don't have to be sorry," Mark told him. "It is by no means your fault that you are here, and so you have nothing to be sorry about."  
  
"Okay," he said, after thinking about what Mark had said. After a pause, he added, "and thanks for being here."  
  
"Anytime," Mark replied, glad to see that he had made the right decision by staying with his friend.  
  
  
  
Later, after Mark had finished the few rounds he had that day, Steve met his father in the Doctors' Lounge.  
  
"Ready to do some more investigating?" Steve asked him, contemplating whether to have some coffee before they started.  
  
"Ready when you are," Mark said, leaving his seat.  
  
Steve decided against the coffee, and headed down the hall with his father to the other patient that needed to be questioned.  
  
"Christina Morris," Steve began. "I'm Lieutenant Steve Sloan, and this is Dr Mark Sloan, my father. We are investigating this disease that you have."  
  
"Okay," Christina said, sitting up in bed.  
  
"What we need to know is, what were you doing right before you passed out?"  
  
"Well, I had just been to the dentist, and had one of my teeth taken out. It was really bothering me, that one right at the back."  
  
"What happened afterwards?"  
  
"Well, I was sitting at the bus-stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. I remember I felt slightly ill when I was there, but I just assumed that it was because of the anaesthetic. Then, I woke up here."  
  
"It's exactly the same as the others," Mark pondered as Steve continued.  
  
"Could you tell me the name of your dentist please, and where his practice is?"  
  
Christina gave him the relevant information, then Steve said goodbye and wished her better.  
  
"Are you going to Colin Fawkler's?"  
  
"It's Saturday, it won't be open," Steve replied.  
  
"His house?"  
  
"Well," Steve started, "I thought I'd drop by to see how Jesse is. How's he doing?"  
  
"Not too bad, but his fever is still very high. If it keeps up, he'll probably start being delirious when he's awake. It's already given him nightmares."  
  
"Can't you make it lower?" Steve asked.  
  
"We are controlling it, not letting it go much higher," Mark explained, "but it is difficult."  
  
Steve nodded. He headed along to Jesse's room, and opened the door to see him out of bed and hanging with his arms out of the window.  
  
"Oh my…" Steve muttered under his breath, sprinting over to where Jesse was. He thought his friend was going to end it all there and jump out of the window.  
  
"Jesse?" Steve asked, slowly coming up behind him and standing next to him.  
  
"Hi," Jesse greeted. He seemed to be concentrating on the ground.  
  
"Jess, what are you looking at?" Steve asked, glad to see that his friend was probably not going to jump.  
  
"There was this guy," Jesse explained. "He came in through the window, and he had a syringe. Anyway, he saw I was awake, so he went again. By the time I got out of bed, this guy was gone." Jesse suddenly swayed, and Steve had to grab him before he landed on the floor. "Whoa, feel a bit dizzy…"  
  
Steve decided that delirium had taken its toll over Jesse. He led him back to his bed. "If my Dad catches you out of bed, he'll go wild!"  
  
"Steve, there was a guy, he came through the window with a syringe, and then he left back out the window again. Wouldn't you get up out of bed?"  
  
"Probably," Steve replied unsurely. "But, I wouldn't go leaning out of the window."  
  
"You're mocking me, aren't you?"  
  
"Jesse," Steve sat down on the chair, ready to explain. "You have a fever. Meaning, you are getting delirious, and you are starting to see things."  
  
"I saw that," Jesse stated firmly. "I know what I saw, and I saw a man climb through the window with a syringe, see me awake, and climb out again."  
  
"Jess, I think you need some sleep," Steve concluded.  
  
"What's the time?"  
  
"Four in the afternoon."  
  
"Steve! Why aren't you on your vacation?"  
  
"Oh," Steve replied with a grin. "Well, you fainted and left such a huge crack in my dashboard, I had to take my truck in for repairs."  
  
"Steve, I'm so sorry! You could have taken my car, and I'll pay for repairs and everything…"  
  
"Jess, I'm kidding! I couldn't go with you here, like this. It wouldn't be the same without you."  
  
Steve sat and talked with Jesse for a few more minutes before his friend drifted off to sleep again. Steve left the room, only to run into his father.  
  
"He's just gone to sleep," Steve told him. "He's having some strange mood swings or something in there."  
  
"I noticed that too," Mark replied. "I'm putting it down to the fever."  
  
"That another thing," Steve continued, "I think delirium set in. He said something about a man came in his window with a syringe and then climbed out again."  
  
Mark nodded, but did not say anything more about the matter. Instead, he said, "Steve, are you going to check out that dentist yet?"  
  
"Are you busy?"  
  
"Your car or mine?" 


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4  
  
  
  
The father and son partnership arrived at a white house with a white picket fence surrounding it. The roof tiles were a blue-grey colour, and the front door was a cobalt shade of blue. Steve pressed the bell twice.  
  
The door opened, and a man in mid forties stepped out onto the porch. He was short, with an eastern complexion and with a thin layer of dark hair on his head. He was wearing a loose shirt and a pair of jeans.  
  
"Mr Fawkler," Steve began, "I'm Lieutenant Sloan, LAPD. I'm here to ask you a few questions."  
  
"What does this concern?" Mr Fawkler asked. "I paid that parking ticket last week."  
  
"It's not about your parking ticket. It concerns some patients of yours."  
  
Mr Fawkler led the two men inside, and brought them a cup of tea.  
  
"Mr Fawkler," Steve said, placing his cup on the coaster on the coffee table, "last week, you treated five patients at your practice. Were they Darren Thompson, Terry Forbes, Christina Morris, Richard Donovan and Donna Bradley?"  
  
"Yes, that is correct."  
  
"Would you mind telling me what you treated them for?"  
  
"They all had a tooth removed. All local anaesthetic injections."  
  
"Did you notice anything strange about the patients during or after the operation?" Mark asked.  
  
The dentist thought about this for a moment. "Apart from Darren Thompson having not returned any of my phone calls about that second tooth being taken out?"  
  
"We'll discuss that in a minute."  
  
"Well, they all seemed to be in more pain than usual when I removed the tooth. They all seemed to grimace. I talked to my assistant about it, but he insisted that the anaesthetic was fine."  
  
"Who is your assistant, and what does he do in your practice?"  
  
"Greg Delaney, and he prepares and administers all the injections for me."  
  
"Why don't you do the injections yourself, Mr Fawkler?" Mark asked him.  
  
The dentist sighed. "I have told people this a hundred times, and each time it sounds more stupid, but I have a big fear of needles. I know, why become a dentist if you fear needles? It's teeth and dentistry that fascinates me, not needles and injections. You see, I travel, and I get a lot of vaccinations for the different places I go to. Some years ago, one of the injections was not quite right, and it almost killed me. I got a strange disease called Crimean Congo Fever. It's rare now, only in parts of Africa and Asia. But when I was vaccinated for it, the dosage was wrong, and I got it. I got such a high fever, and I felt dizzy and I ached a lot. I survived because from somewhere the antidote was found. From then, I have hated injections, including giving them. I get my assistant to do them. I hope you don't find this a lame excuse for not carrying out the parts of my work."  
  
"Not at all," Mark replied. "You have been very helpful."  
  
"How is that?"  
  
"The five patients, along with a doctor at Community General Hospital, contracted what I think is the same disease you had when you were younger."  
  
"What?" Steve and the dentist asked at the same time.  
  
"Steve, the five of them got it through the anaesthetic. Jesse got it from the blood on the broken glass."  
  
"Okay," Steve replied, catching on. "Mr Fawkler, where does Greg Delaney live?"  
  
Colin told him, and Mark asked, "When you travel, do you ever bring Greg with you?"  
  
"No," he replied. "But when I get vaccinated, he comes with me."  
  
"When was the last time you were vaccinated?"  
  
"Two months ago. I was going to Turkey."  
  
"I know this could be difficult to remember," Steve said, "but was Greg with you all the time?"  
  
"He disappeared once to go to the bathroom, but I thought it was strange that he had to go again the moment we got back to the surgery."  
  
"He has got to be our man," Steve said.  
  
"We aren't quite done yet," Mark replied. "I think we owe Mr Fawkler an explanation. You see," Mark said, seeing that Steve was hopping, ready to go and get Delaney, "all five of your patients were admitted to hospital the same day they were operated on. They have the same symptoms that you seem to have had. I believe that when you were immunised, Greg probably stole some of the vaccination bottles, and injected the disease into the patients along with some of the local anaesthetic."  
  
"But the patients, are they all right?"  
  
"I'm sorry to inform you, Mr Fawkler, that two of them have not made it. Richard Donovan and Terry Forbes both died yesterday."  
  
Mr Fawkler lowered his head, and then said, "There are others still to be saved?"  
  
"Yes, four. Three of your patients, and one of the doctors at CG who contracted the disease."  
  
"Well, I will find you the antidote. It will take me about an hour at best. I know a friend, a biochemist, that has an antidote to every know disease to man. It will not take long to get them. I will see you at the hospital soon."  
  
"Thank you, Mr Fawkler. You've been a great help. Okay Steve, we'll go now."  
  
  
  
When Steve was driving along to Greg Delaney's house, Mark received a call from Amanda.  
  
"Hey Amanda," Mark answered the call, "what's up?"  
  
"Mark, have you caught them yet?" Amanda asked.  
  
"Not yet, we're on our way. Why?"  
  
"I got the results from Donovan's autopsy, and I've found out what the disease is. You're not gonna believe it…"  
  
"Crimean Congo Fever?" Mark hazarded a guess.  
  
"How do you know?"  
  
"We've just had a word with the dentist."  
  
"And he's not the guy behind this?"  
  
"No, it's his assistant Greg Delaney."  
  
"Well are you going that way now?"  
  
"Yes, we are. Amanda, could you do me a favour, please?"  
  
"Anything, Mark. What is it?"  
  
"If a man called Colin Fawkler comes into the hospital, meet him and direct him to the patients with CCF. He'll have the antidote, or if he doesn't, he'll have an answer why."  
  
"Okay Mark," Amanda replied.  
  
Mark put the phone down as Steve parked the car outside the address.  
  
Steve rapped irritably on the door. "Delaney?" he called. "Police! Open up!"  
  
Mark skulked around the back of the house.  
  
"No one home," he reported, joining Steve who was now looking through the front window. "Back door is unlocked, though."  
  
"We'll need a warrant," Steve sighed. "But I am not waiting around to get one."  
  
"Great minds think alike," Mark chuckled as they headed into the house.  
  
After five minutes of searching, Mark stumbled upon something extraordinary in the basement.  
  
"Steve!" He called up the stairs. "You'll wanna take a look at this."  
  
Steve headed down the stairs, and stepped into what could only be described as a chemistry lab.  
  
"This has got to be the guy," Steve said, staring at the equipment.  
  
"I've got an idea of what he has done," Mark said. "It's complicated, but this guy is probably a professional. You know how some diseases are caught some ways, like a cold is caught through the air, and glandular fever through drinking or eating with the same utensils. Well, I don't know how you would usually catch this disease, but this guy seems to have mutated it so that one can only catch it if it is entered into the system. In this case, Jesse got it from touching the blood on the broken glass."  
  
"How do you know?" Steve asked, bewildered. "I mean, is that possible?"  
  
"I don't know that, but I am guessing that it is possible. He would have done it because he would not want to catch it himself. I am also guessing that he would need all this equipment to do it."  
  
"But, what is his motive?"  
  
"That is something we can find out later."  
  
The pair continued to search the house. Steve went upstairs, and noticed something in the trashcan when he opened the bedroom door.  
  
"A suction shoe?" Mark asked in surprise.  
  
"A broken one," Steve said.  
  
"Not one of your usual household items," Mark pondered. "Unless you climb up walls for a living."  
  
Steve gasped. "He wasn't seeing things!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"This morning, Jesse thought he saw some guy climb through his window and climb out again. I told you that I thought he was being delirious. If there are no other pads like this in the house…"  
  
"Then Jesse is in trouble!" Mark finished.  
  
After a quick search, they found no trace of any other wall-climbing equipment. "Steve, we have to get to the hospital, and fast!" Steve did not need to be told twice. They exited the house, got back in the car, and were speeding along to the hospital. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5  
  
Meanwhile, Jesse opened his eyes, and wondered what had awoken him. He glanced over to the window, and noticed that the black figure had reappeared at the window, and was trying to open the window.  
  
"Am I dreaming again?" Jesse murmured to himself. He sat up in his bed.  
  
Outside, the sun was setting. Since it was getting dark, the person outside the window knew that there was less chance that anyone would see him. He finally got the window open, and stepped silently inside.  
  
"It's now or never," he said to himself, seeing Jesse was awake.  
  
"What are you going to do to me?" Jesse asked, seeing the syringe in the man's hand.  
  
"You were not meant to be part of my experiment," the man growled.  
  
"Your experiment?" Jesse asked.  
  
"There were meant to be five people with CCF, and you got it."  
  
"What are you? Some kind of scientist?"  
  
"If only they believed me," the man said, sitting down on the chair.  
  
Jesse knew that he had to keep the man talking for as long as it took before someone came in the room. That was the only way he could be kept out of danger. "Why did you do this?"  
  
"No one would take me seriously," the man sighed. "No one believed me. So I had to show them."  
  
"Show them what? Surely you didn't need to give people diseases?" Jesse was outraged.  
  
"It was an experiment! It wasn't meant to go wrong! No one was meant to die!"  
  
It was the first time that anyone had told him that people with CCF had died. He tried not to let it get to him. "Why? I mean, wasn't there another way to prove your work is worth it?" Jesse asked, choosing his words carefully.  
  
"I went to everyone in LA. No one listened. They don't want chemist who had been in rehab at sixteen."  
  
Jesse was beginning to feel sorry for the man. "What's your name?"  
  
"Greg. Greg Delaney."  
  
"Okay, Greg. I'm going to try and help you, if you put the syringe down."  
  
"No! You weren't meant to be part of the experiment!"  
  
"I didn't mean to…"  
  
"Something always goes wrong whenever I try to put something right."  
  
"Things started going wrong when you killed those people!" Jesse inwardly winced at what he had said, knowing that he was now treading on thin ground.  
  
"I told you!" Greg yelled out loud, jumping off of the chair. "I didn't mean to kill them!"  
  
"You shouldn't have been injecting them with that stuff in the first place," Jesse said. "Why did you do it?"  
  
"I thought I told you, I want people to see that I am not just messing around, and that I am worthy. I know what I am talking about."  
  
"Right now, you are talking nonsense, and because of what you did, you will have to pay for the consequences. Got that?"  
  
Greg stopped, and regained himself. "Someone has to catch me first, and with what you're going to get, I don't think you're up to it."  
  
"What am I going to get?" Jesse asked, trying to feel brave.  
  
"A shot of typhoid," the man sneered, leaving the chair.  
  
Jesse gulped. He knew typhoid was not to be messing around with. The symptoms included headaches, fever, delirium, and heart failure.  
  
As Greg neared him with the syringe, Jesse edged away. He climbed out of the bed, and then realised that Greg was in between himself and the door. Greg advanced on him, needle poised.  
  
It was getting too much for Jesse. He felt himself go fuzzy, and he swayed slightly. Greg saw his chance, and grabbed Jesse. Jesse's weight fell towards Greg, and it overpowered him.  
  
At that moment, the door burst open, and Steve charged in, closely followed by Mark. The sight they entered upon was that the two men were in a heap on the floor.  
  
"Delaney, you are under arrest," Steve began as the two officers dragged him away. He sneered at Jesse as he was taken away and read his rights.  
  
"Jesse?" Mark said. Then he noticed that Delaney had left something behind.  
  
Mark pulled the needle from the side of Jesse's shoulder. "Jesse? Can you hear me?"  
  
"Yeah," Jesse murmured.  
  
"What was in the syringe?"  
  
"Typhoid."  
  
Mark cursed under his breath. "I wasn't part of his experiment," Jesse continued. "I guess he made me an experiment of his own. Handling one weird disease and typhoid at the same time."  
  
"Was that his motive?" Mark asked, helping Jesse into his bed.  
  
"Yeah. All this was an experiment. Mark, that guy is nuts up here," Jesse pointed to his head. "I think he needs help."  
  
"He'll get it," Steve said, coming into the room.  
  
"No really, Steve, he does. And Mark, why didn't you tell me that people had died?"  
  
"We didn't want to worry you, Jesse."  
  
Steve, seeing that Jesse was physically and now emotionally drained, changed the subject.  
  
"Dad, has Colin Fawkler arrived yet?"  
  
"He should have done. Amanda went to meet him."  
  
A moment later, Amanda burst in. "He's on his way," Amanda said. "He's dealing with the other three patients first."  
  
"Amanda, we are going to be needing some antibiotics in here," Mark said.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I've got typhoid," Jesse replied blankly.  
  
"You've got what?" Amanda asked, astounded.  
  
There was a knock on the doorframe, and Colin Fawkler walked in.  
  
"Ready?"  
  
"Amanda, the antibiotics please?" Mark requested again. She left to get them.  
  
Jesse was given the medication for his original illness. "Do you feel any better?" Steve asked.  
  
"Not really," Jesse replied quietly.  
  
"It will take some time," Mark said. "We have just got to get that fever down."  
  
After Jesse had spoken, something started happening. He found it difficult to focus, and around him he felt everything get darker, and heavier. He knew that Mark was speaking, saying something, but he couldn't understand what he was saying.  
  
Suddenly, his world was plunged into darkness. It was like a big, black blanket had been placed over him, and he couldn't get out.  
  
  
  
Around Jesse, doctors and nurses milled around, applying machines to him. Someone had retrieved a crash cart, and Mark was concentrating every ounce of energy and willpower into restarting Jesse's heart. When he heard the satisfying beeping, he sighed with relief.  
  
"Thought we'd lost you there," Mark murmured as some of the equipment was taken away. "We won't let you get away that easy."  
  
Steve came back into the room, from having been pushed out when Jesse's heart had stopped. "Dad? What happened?"  
  
"Heart failure. The worst, and normally the final part of typhoid," Mark explained. "Once they started getting the antibiotics into him, all he needed was a jumpstart."  
  
Steve nodded. "So, he's going to be okay?"  
  
"He is going to be just fine."  
  
  
  
Jesse woke up a day later, and was greeted by the sight of his friends.  
  
"Hi Jesse," Amanda welcomed him back to the world of the awake. "How do you feel?"  
  
"Not so bad," Jesse said, sitting up in bed. "Why the machines? They weren't there before."  
  
"Jesse," Mark began, "your heart stopped. That's why the machines have appeared."  
  
"Really?" Jesse said, saying no more.  
  
"You're going to be fine now," Mark continued. "Your fever has gone down, and that's the main thing."  
  
"Yeah," Jesse said. "I feel a lot better."  
  
"Good," all three replied with relief.  
  
Jesse grinned. "When do I get to go home? And Steve, are we going to go on a real vacation soon? I hope you've gone out and organised that in my absence. How has BBQ Bob's been running itself since I've been ill?"  
  
Mark rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he was having a party at seeing Jesse back to his normal self. He wondered how long it would be before things were totally back to normal, when Amanda would show her infuriation.  
  
"Okay, Jesse," Amanda said through gritted teeth. "We are all so glad that you are back to normal, but do us a favour and be quiet for just one second?"  
  
Mark looked at his watch. He made it about twelve seconds.  
  
  
  
** ~~ The End ~~ **  
  
  
  
Note from the author: Hi! Hope you liked the story! I'm already planning the next story (and for all you Jesse fans out there, I hope you'll like it.)  
  
Thanks,  
  
Becca :-) 


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